Proletariats

-Proletariats-
by Keaton Foster


Proletariats
Such feral legions
Pompous postulates
Thinking
Without questioning
Anything beyond their noses
To high heaven they stink
The stench, wafting
Between each of them
Saturated with the smell
They have no idea
That it is emanating
From them and their kind
For them life is always
Coming up roses
When anything appears down
They praise God for the lesson
That they are sure is theirs
They don’t question his resolve
They don’t brand his timing
Inconvenient or inappropriate
Proletariats
Mired by only a handful
Of petitionary abolitionist
Those of greater resistance
Those unconcerned
Bastions of human evolution
Brave spectra’s of a few
Who dare at any price
Those unlike the workers
Life’s truly burdened laborers
Always fighting to understand
Always seeking God
Asking issues of wisdom
Why did he create all of us
Only to wholeheartedly damn
Each one of us
To such a perilous intersection
To a point and place
Where we alone must decide
This side or the other
There is no in between
No crossing back and forth
There is only the righteous
And those errantly undecided
Those so saved and those not
In this unintended place
In this epicenter of all creation
Damnation does unfold
Like a wild wilderness
Salvation hides behind the eyes
Behind words to be defined
By those so inclined
By those of momentous belief
Mismanaged conformists
Both barring the doors
And opening the windows
Both restricting the mind
And releasing the heart
People and animals
Minute
Are such differences
Subtle are the nuances
Gradient transformations
Always running against
Secular inferences
All of it extrapolation
Pseudo masterbation
It feels good to know
For as far as we can
That we are correct
That we are doing it right
What we are sure God wants
Based of ideas bred by men
Based on stories confessed
Busy bee’s always make honey
Lazy bee’s produce nothing
Of substantial qualification
Yet one cannot exist
Without every other
Proletariats
Pointing at what exactly
I’m not sure they know
Nor will they really ever
People like me are outsiders
Conscientious observers
Making our own mess
We have no intentions
With regard to cleaning up
The stain of all existence
Is only paled in comparison
By the strain of our condition
We are struggling to earn
A good day’s wage
As we make our way
Between prevailing
And embarkation
Unlike those feral legions
That we fight not to be most of all
We want no part of their sin
We will have nothing
Of their ultimate redemption
Fate is ours alone to decide
The presence of a god
Is pointless and contrived
The absence of that same god
Concerns us least of all
We are the creatures
Here in the blistering darkness
The true animals of our species
Proletariats
Stand for all that we are not
They do what needs to be done
They are kind, gentle souls
Thus the antithesis
Of all that we are not
We do what we wish
In order to decide
What needs to be done
For ourselves
If faith is their universe
Then freewill
Is our event horizon
The central microcosm
Of a perfectly finite individualism
That they of course
Want no functional part of…




Proletariats
Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2014.